The Lingering Echoes of 'Ghuspaithiya': Unpacking India's Divisive Rhetoric

In the vibrant tapestry of Indian politics, certain words resonate with a peculiar, often unsettling, power. 'Ghuspaithiya' – the Hindi term for 'infiltrator' – is one such word, wielded by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), most notably by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, as a political bludgeon.

It's a term that doesn't merely describe; it condemns, demonizes, and, crucially, targets. The repeated deployment of this 'dog whistle' in electoral campaigns, particularly in Assam, reveals a calculated strategy to polarize the electorate and consolidate votes by othering a specific community: Muslims.

The narrative spun around 'ghuspaithiyas' suggests a grave threat to national security and demography, a subtle yet potent accusation leveled primarily at undocumented immigrants from Bangladesh.

Yet, the irony is stark and painful. Despite years of intense public discourse and the colossal exercise of the National Register of Citizens (NRC) in Assam, the data tells a different story. The vast majority of individuals eventually deemed 'illegal migrants' by the NRC were, in fact, Hindus, many of whom had already been offered a path to citizenship through the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA).

This discrepancy exposes the cynical heart of the 'ghuspaithiya' rhetoric.

If the NRC process, a painstakingly detailed verification, identified more Hindus than Muslims as potential 'outsiders,' why does the political vitriol consistently point towards the Muslim community? The answer lies in the strategic utility of fear and prejudice. By conflating 'ghuspaithiya' with 'Muslim,' the BJP taps into long-standing xenophobic anxieties in states like Assam, skillfully transforming a complex issue of migration into a simple, emotionally charged battleground against an imagined internal enemy.

Historically, Assam has been a crucible of anti-foreigner sentiment, culminating in the Assam Agitation.

While that movement targeted all 'illegal foreigners,' the modern iteration of this narrative under the BJP has undergone a crucial reorientation. It has evolved into a tool for majoritarian consolidation, painting Muslims as perpetual outsiders, regardless of their documented citizenship or generational roots in the country.

This not only marginalizes a significant portion of the population but also diverts attention from critical governance issues, reducing complex socio-economic challenges to simplistic identity politics.

The consequences of such divisive language are profound. It normalizes prejudice, fosters communal mistrust, and fundamentally undermines the principles of a pluralistic democracy.

When the highest political office uses such terms, it legitimizes discrimination and encourages an atmosphere where certain communities are viewed with suspicion and hostility. The real 'infiltrator,' perhaps, is this insidious rhetoric itself, quietly creeping into the national psyche, eroding the bonds of shared citizenship, and leaving behind a trail of division and resentment.

In this political theater, where words are weapons and fear is currency, it becomes imperative for citizens and institutions to scrutinize the underlying motives behind such pronouncements.

The 'ghuspaithiya' narrative is not merely about migration; it's about power, identity, and the dangerous game of political othering that threatens to fragment the very soul of the nation.